


My Dream Heart

by Ellen_Fitzwilliam_Brandybuck



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Cutesy, F/M, Fluff, Romance, Romantic Fluff, Short & Sweet, Slow Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:54:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27603098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellen_Fitzwilliam_Brandybuck/pseuds/Ellen_Fitzwilliam_Brandybuck
Summary: They had sworn themselves to the road of vengeance in their youth. She to use her special gifts as a weapon as he tracked down those responsible for his parents' death. But then the Grey Wardens came and everything changed. She had to remain in the shadows, those gifts now a curse, as she watched the man she loved face the world of evil seemingly on his own. Stroud/OC oneshot
Relationships: Jean-Marc Stroud/Other(s)
Kudos: 2
Collections: Coming to Fruition





	My Dream Heart

**Author's Note:**

> I am certainly not the only one who fell in love with Grey Warden Jean-Marc Stroud. In my playthrough, I felt it more logical to have him survive over the sentimentality of having Hawke survive (long term thinking folks). Guess I'm heartless, eh? In any case, this is a one-shot for resolution on Stroud (totally self-serving) and features an OC connected to a race of creatures I created some years ago and who feature in other stories written, including two other Dragon Age stories. In any case, leave praise or critique, I welcome both. Enjoy!

She knew that he knew that she knew his fate. Or at least the current fate chosen for him by the Inquisition. After having set up a semblance of a new command among those Wardens who'd survived Adamant, Jean-Marc was on his way to Weisshaupt to inform his superiors of the news and she, well she was tailing him in the shadows. She'd grown accustomed to this place in his life, always aware but rarely invited into the light of direct contact aside from letters. Ever since his parents had been killed in their youth and his future as a chevalier has been traded for the Griffon emblem of the wardens, she'd been relegated to his shadows. Before his final departure with the Warden Clarel, he'd told her as such. The life of a Warden held little promise for a happy future and more so than that her very nature would potentially cause room for doubt in his abilities to act above reproach. It had been a hard truth to swallow but swallow it she had. And she then maintained what direct connection his livelihood had allowed them: letters of "I'm still alive" exchanged every few months and, in the past few decades, they'd seen each other for at least a few hours at a time, a half-dozen times. Of course, because of the very nature that barred her from his side, she had also seen him in his dreams, spoken with him there, embraced him, loved him, but she doubted he was even aware.

Jean-Marc rode with his back straight, though she could tell the slow gait pained him. Occasionally, he pulled the horse to a full-stop, and even from this distance she could see him hunch over as if taking in a much needed breath. They were still at least two days' from Weisshaupt, a day and a half at a more hurried pace. He traveled slow as he was still healing after the fight in the Fade and at Adamant. She wasn't certain why he traveled alone, but she was thankful for it. This isolation gave her the freedom to follow him without risk of being seen by his companions, as had been the risk in the past.

She shook her head at his stubbornness as he resumed the pace, and she hers. He'd been forced to run for his ideals and had been in hiding at Crestwood until the Inquisitor found him. Jean-Marc had had no time for her then, not even to ask for help. And she would have helped, would have gladly destroyed his enemies and brought an end to all this. But it was not his place, as Warden, to solicit the aid of a witch. She gladly accepted the term "witch" over the reality: that she was of no race known to Thedas and it would remain that way. Others of her kind also adapted to being known as "witches" or "wizards" as there was no other way to explain their shape-shifting ability or their connection to what Thedas believed to be "magic." It had been this status as a "witch" that rendered her an unacceptable companion to Jean-Marc once his parents were gone and he taken from her life.

Whereas before the tragedy, she'd been able to hide her nature behind the facade of being one of his chevalier instructor's nieces, a companion to go to and learn with, once the news of his family's death came and he left on a road of vengeance, she'd gone against all advice from her uncle and joined him. Together they swore to carve out a swathe of Orlais, making all nobles bleed until justice was done. That was when they'd taken the blood oath. Before the Wardens caught up with them and he, honor-bound to accept the commission left with them, they'd exchanged more than just the oath. It was a whispered memory on the edges of her mind now, so long ago it had occurred, but if she closed her eyes and concentrated she might conjure up what it felt like to fall asleep in his arms on a cold night, the feeling his touch brought her when they walked together hand-in-hand, the scent of his skin as she tucked her face into his neck, held tightly in his embrace. It had seemed so clear to them then, their destiny together, but fate was a fickle female at the best of times. The very nature that would have secured their success in vengeance had denied them their future when the Wardens came to call.

Though she was not as powerful as her ancestors, the pure blood of their power had dwindled over three generations of intermingling with humans, she still had the ability to transform into a drake. What she lacked in draconic form she made up for in other ways, with enhanced senses in human form and a slight "magical" gift to command nature to her will. This had come in handy over the years, staying alive and lending aid to those who were overlooked by society and maligned to the sidelines of life. It had also been useful in the brief time she and Jean-Marc had traveled together.

He stopped his horse and again she paused, making sure to press herself against the earth when his gaze flickered back over his shoulder. The path he was on wound its way down to the lowlands. She remained on the elevated portion, the going growing more and more perilous as the grassy ground gave way to rocks and gnarled shrubs. Soon they would be in the flatlands and it would be harder for her to disguise her trail and hide from him. She contemplated revealing herself to him, but immediately stopped that line of thought. Though much had happened to him in a short span of time, she wasn't certain if he was in the position to welcome the sight of her. She trusted that he knew of her awareness of his plight, but that didn't immediately merit a reunion.

Jean-Marc rolled his shoulders and resumed his journey. Her chest ached, as it often did when she felt his own pain. The blood oath rendered them bonded, and they would remain so for all the rest of his days. It was like a string attached to her third or fourth rib that vibrated with his energy as he went through his days, the vibrations faster when he was enraged or impassioned, and slower when he was at peace or pensive. They'd enacted the bond before either of them had understood the lifelong ramifications. He, not knowing of her true ancestry and all the powers and responsibilities and dangers that roiled within her blood. She, not yet realizing how powerfully she would be connected to him regardless of circumstances and how much that would influence her.

Indeed, she had felt it when he'd gone into the Fade. A strange envelopment of…oppression had settled over their bond and for the duration of his time in the Fade, she'd scarcely breathed. She'd known she would survive his death. Others of her kind had survived similar bonds and enacted others soon after, time and time again, as they roamed the world in their centuries-long lifespans. But the truth was, she didn't want to survive his lifespan. Though they'd been denied what she'd always thought would be their future—one of domestic bliss fighting evil together—that had never stopped her heart from conforming to the nuances of his soul as it was shared through their bond.

It was a sobering fact that while she could perceive emotions and, with great concentration, even eavesdrop into his mind and see the world with his eyes, he could not. It had been so long since she'd asked him directly about it; she wasn't certain he felt anything of it anymore. At one time, in the early years, he'd been able to get hints of her emotions and ghost images of what she could see, but certainly he couldn't now. Not after so many years apart physically, and months apart mentally. If she drew closer than she was now on this path towards Weisshaupt, no doubt his Warden senses would perceive her, but she doubted their bond was strong enough to alert him in that fashion.

She paused in her journey when she watched Jean-Marc stop again. He dismounted this time and pulled his horse further into a protected glade. Frowning, she readjusted her own path to get a better view. It was not like him to stop with a few hours left of daylight. Unless his injuries were hurting him worse than what his demeanor seemed to convey. The rocks of the hills bordering the path were damned difficult to traverse. More dirt than rock, they crumbled and shattered at the barest hint of pressure. From the looks of it, Jean-Marc intended to make against the rocky wall with trees bordering all other sides. It afforded him privacy, but it also hindered his view if anyone was to attack. Frowning more, she picked her way across the rocks, doing what she could to keep things from dislodging.

But her efforts were in vain. Just as she got sight of his horse, grazing saddle-less in a makeshift pen among the trees, the shifting rocks gave way beneath her feet and she slid towards the edge. There was no stopping. She tried to mute her yelp of surprise as she grasped out with her fingers. Her hands found no grip on anything. The drop to the earth below would kill her in her human form. She knew this, and she had no time to prepare for the transformation. While normally she found a place of privacy to remove her clothing and weapons, this fall would not afford her such a luxury. Cursing her clumsiness, she closed her eyes and concentrated on the transformation even as she felt her body reach the edge of the cliff and tip over, falling into the nothingness.

It was always painful, the transformation, and this one was also a nuisance as, once she landed on the ground and transformed back, she would have to find some way to salvage her clothing and retrieve all her gear. She was just about to the ground when her wings spread out, braking the fall, and landed on her feet with a heavy thump. She still tipped forward, smacking her head upon the ground, but the thick scales of her body in this form protected her from the damage that would've otherwise killed her. A moment passed where she gathered her bearings, assessed her body, and then righted herself, shaking out her wings and her head. Everything was fine. Nothing was broken, except for her pride. With a sigh, she closed her eyes and transformed back. She had best collect her items and hide before Jean-Marc or anyone else found her.

Back in human form, and as naked as the day she was born, she turned to scramble back over the fallen rocks to find what was left of her clothing. Spying some of her gear, she picked her way over the rocks-

"While this was not what I imagined our reunion to look like," she froze when his liquid honey voice wrapped around her and stayed her movements, "I am not complaining." Despite her better judgment, she turned to stare at him. He had come around a rocky outcropping, no doubt having heard the ruckus of her fall, and stood with his sword no longer barred, though still in hand, clothed in his Warden armor. He smiled, "The years have treated you well." She felt his eyes travel down the length of her naked flesh and she shivered. It was not cold, not in the slightest, but his gaze made her feel heated.

Finally recovering her voice, and the ability to move, she ducked behind a rock and frowned, "I wasn't meaning for us to have a reunion, Jean-Marc."

"You would rather continue to trail behind me like a Blight victim than travel at my side?" He clicked his tongue against his teeth. "You should know that has never been where I wanted you." He sheathed his sword and turned his back to her, "I'll wait for you at the camp. And I do expect you to come to camp."

He left her then, and she took advantage of the privacy to retrieve what items she could find, tie what was left of her clothing in a semi-decent fashion about her body, and then solemnly wander toward his camp. There really was no point in trying to fly off now.

He sat with his back to her at his campfire. He had discarded his armor and sat in his tunic and breeches only. She could tell from the way he sat up straighter he'd heard her approach. He reached out and patted a lump on the ground next to him.

"You may take these to wear." He didn't look back at her, instead choosing to continue the meal preparations.

As she left her weapons and gear and took the clothing offered, she was reminded of their time on the road. Back then, he'd gotten into the habit of carrying extra clothes, in case she had to transform suddenly, and it seemed either old habits had never died off or he was giving her his only other clothing. Either way, she shamelessly hugged herself and buried her nose in the cloth after putting it on. Her body thrummed with memories come alive at his scent, the memories mixing with the fantasies she'd used in the years since then to assuage her lonely heart.

Shaking her head, she quickly dropped her arms and rejoined him. He didn't look up right away, too intent upon placing the cooking pot over the fire, but once that was settled his gaze met hers and she was glad she was already sitting. It had been far too long since she'd seen him like this, face-to-face, and to have his gaze so intently upon her was overwhelming.

"You've been tracking me since Adamant?" She nodded. No point in trying to lie. "And before that, you followed me to Crestwood?" She nodded again. "I thought so. There was a feeling," he rubbed at his chest, right below his heart, "one that only comes when you're around."

She nibbled on her lower lip, "I'm sorry?"

"No," he chuckled, "you know better than to be sorry."

They sat in silence for a spell then. Through the bond, she felt a variation from him, some fast, some slow vibrations, ranging from frustration and anger to confusion and…what was that other slow one?

"What are you angry at?" She asked without thinking and immediately chided herself for it. While he'd never found fault with her ability to discern his emotions, that had been decades ago, and even in their letters, she'd never presumed to express her greater insight.

Jean-Marc chuckled, "It hasn't lessened any, has it?" He continued to smile, and she relaxed. "The bond on your side."

"No, it hasn't." She admitted. "I even felt it while you were in the Fade."

His eyes grew shadowed at the mentioning of that place, and he turned his gaze to the flames. She remained silent, knowing that whatever was to be said this evening, Jean-Marc would dictate the pace.

"I should have stayed to fight the Nightmare. There was no reason for the Champion to stay, it wasn't her fight." He poked the fire and watched the sparks fly heavenward. "The dwarf, her old companion Varric, told me she had someone waiting for her. Off fighting slavers himself. He will need to be told of her sacrifice." Jean-Marc shook his head. "She had someone, while I-" He cut himself off as his eyes caught hers across the fire.

"I've never wanted to be anywhere but at your side, Jean-Marc. The circumstances, the distance, the years, none of that changed what I felt, what I feel, for you." She willed him to feel the truth of her words through the bond and she found some satisfaction when his eyes widened and he shifted on his mat as if in direct response to the intensity of the bond. "I understand the Champion could openly express her love and affiliation for her lover, a former Tevinter slave. While you-"

He interrupted, "I've been a part of a world larger than myself, one that has certain demands and sacrifices required. A world that may not look kindly upon a witch." He added before she could. "Yes, I remember what I told you all those years ago before I left for Weisshaupt."

She smiled, "While I am sorry for the loss of the Champion of Kirkwall, I am selfishly thankful that you survived. And I agree with the Champion's choice to stay." Jean-Marc raised his eyebrows in confusion. "I walked in your dreams of the Fade, to understand what happened there, and I saw bits of the exchange leading up the decision the Inquisitor made."

"You believe I can rebuild the Wardens?" he sounded as incredulous as he did exhausted by the prospect.

"I believe you capable of many things, Jean-Marc, and that is just one of them." Her stomach growled when the smell of food wafted to her on a breeze. "Do you have any extra or should I go scrounge for food elsewhere?"

Jean-Marc sighed out a laugh, "I made enough for two. Here." He handed her a wooden bowl and dished out some stew.

They ate together in companionable silence, each lost in thought and memory. As pleasant as this was, he was counting down to when they would part again. When she would have to fall back into the shadows to not taint his honorable service. It was with this dastardly thought that she took his empty bowl and her own and stood.

"I'll wash these," without waiting for possible protest, she wandered off to the small creek snaking out from under the rocks nearby, purposefully ignoring the way she wanted nothing more than to fall into his arms when she passed him.

They were both older, matured, and so the desires she'd had for him as a youth had morphed into adult yearnings. She scrubbed harder than was necessary to banish these yearnings. When she returned, he held out a mug to her. Taking it, she moved to sit across from him again, but his large hand wrapped around her wrist. She stared at him until he tugged. She didn't fight, happy to be near. She sipped at the contents of the mug and smiled. It was tea. Jean-Marc still had an affinity for tea it seemed.

"I will rebuild the Wardens, as much as I am able, Maker help me." Jean-Marc spoke between sips of tea. "And I will serve the Inquisition for as long as necessary to rid the world of Corypheus."

She raised her mug, "I'll drink to that." She took a sip and would've taken another, but he reached out and laid his hand on her forearm. She felt a seriousness fall on the bond between them. "What is it, Jean-Marc?"

"What I said before," he set aside his mug and turned on his mat to face her more fully, "after what happened in the Fade," she also set aside her mug and waited for him to continue, "I don't think it is true anymore."

She blinked at him as he paused, obviously thinking she would understand his meaning right away. She didn't. "Don't think what is true anymore?"

"I think the world I am a part of, the world that I am trying to save, is in desperate need of a witch like you." He reached out and took her hands in his. They were warm and she could feel his heartbeat through them. "The war between the mages and templars is all but over, and with the Rifts and Corypheus at large, there would be no reason for anyone to judge or doubt you. Especially not if you-" he dropped his eyes and looked back to the fire.

Her own heart was hammering in her chest, "If I what, Jean-Marc? The bond allows me to feel your emotions and see the world through you, not read your mind exactly." She playfully pushed at his shoulder. "I need you to finish your sentences."

She watched him close his eyes, and for a moment she couldn't breathe. Through the bond, she felt such anguish, such pain, such passion, such desire, such…hope, and all of it at once. Whatever was happening here had been a long time coming, and perhaps fate had smiled upon her when it pushed her off the cliff and practically back into his arms.

"Mon couer, s'il vous plaît, listen carefully." He scooted closer, one hand reaching up to tuck some of her wayward hair back into her braid, the other still holding her hand. "Choosing to leave you and follow the Wardens was the hardest decision of my life." She opened her mouth to interrupt, but he shook his head and so she remained silent. "Even during the months we could not exchange letters, or the years we never saw one another, I still felt you." He brought her hand up and pressed it against his chest. "I could see you and believed myself able to talk with you in my dreams." At her look of surprise he sighed and shook his head, "Now, having been to the Fade, it must have been a spirit of compassion taking your form that spent all those years with me, easing the pain of our separation in the darkness of night."

Breaking her silence, she squeezed his hand, "Not every night." At his look she smiled, "I was able to meet with you in your dreams over the years, but I never expected you to remember them. This is both shocking and heartening."

"Yes," he nodded, his eyes studying her face as if searching for deeper answers to life than either of them had, "ma moitié, it is heartening." He brought her hand up and kissed the back of it. The stubble on his chin tickled her skin. "I never wavered. How could I? You were, are, the only other part of me still walking upon this earth. And you swore yourself to me, mon ange, just as I swore myself to you." He broke eye contact then, and a swift feeling of remorse clouded their bond. "I should not ask you to forgive my pride and ignorance, for wasting so many years on the petty judgment that separated us, but I am. I cannot help but wonder…"

She traced her fingers over his jawline, tucking her fingers under his chin to turn his face back to hers. Leaning closer, she pressed her lips against his neck, just below his ear. She felt him stiffen and heard the intake of his breath, even as she felt a shimmering of desire flicker through their bond.

"Jean-Marc, you're still not finishing your sentences." She smiled when she pulled back, clasping his hands between her own. "Ask me plainly whatever it is you're meaning to ask." He continued to hesitate, so she kissed the back of both hands and squeezed them again, "Ask me, Jean-Marc."

"Will you allow me to love you?" His question, blurted in a breath yet holding so much emotion, robbed her of breath and she swayed, his arms coming up to take hold of her shoulders. "To marry you?"

She swallowed, "For all to see?"

"Yes," he pulled her further into his embrace and she let him, "for all to see and for any to be damned if they disagree."

She ran her fingers over the lines of his face. He carried the pain of his past and the weight of his livelihood in the wrinkles around his eyes and mouth. He was aged in body and heart, and while she'd felt the immensity of the Fade through their bond, she never would have dreamed it would produce such results. They were living in desperate times, with even less chance for a tomorrow than ever before. It seemed all that combined had severed whatever perceived factor of duty keeping away from her side all these years.

"I will." She smiled up at him as he continued to cradle her against his chest. "Gladly."

Jean Marc's lips were warm and firm when they pressed against hers, his arms strong as they held her tight. Her arms wrapped around his neck, her fingers massaging against his close-shaven scalp as they continued the kiss. The bond thrummed stronger than ever, and she whimpered. After so many years of yearning, to have this become their reality was intoxicating.

Jean-Marc pulled away from the kiss, staring down at her with wide eyes and a smile on his lips. She smiled back at him in return.

"I'm holding you to that, you know." He sat up straight and now she was fully in his lap, fully enveloped in his arms, his chest against her back, and their arms hugging her together close against him. "When we reach Weisshaupt, the Chantry has granted the First Warden the authority to hear our vows."

She laughed and tilted her head to the side, to look back up at him over her shoulder, "You truly don't want to waste any more time, do you?"

"No," he leaned down, "mon _rêve_ ," he kissed her again, long, slow, deep, and she forgot to breathe or that it was even necessary for life until he pulled away and whispered against her skin, "mon _trésor,_ we will waste not one more day of our lives."

She sighed against his lips, "I like it when you finish your sentences, Jean-Marc."

"And I like kissing you."

She laughed as he kissed her again. And again. And…again…

**Author's Note:**

> Mon coeur- my heart  
> s'il vous plait - if you please  
> ma moitié - my other half  
> mon range - my angel  
> mon rêve - my dream  
> mon trésor - my treasure
> 
> The OC was a descendant of a Taninoui, an original race of creatures that can take a dragon-like form and a human-like form. As seen with this OC, they can intermingle with humans and with each passing generation the abilities of the Taninoui breed out until there is barely anything left; this OC is a third generation and so still has enhanced abilities and some transformation skills.


End file.
